


A Matter of Honor

by RowenaZahnrei



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Claws, Fencing, Gen, Mutant Powers, Practice fight, Sparring, Swordfighting, Swords, challenge, tail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:05:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowenaZahnrei/pseuds/RowenaZahnrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who is master of the blade?  Wolverine and Nightcrawler spar in the Danger Room. </p><p>COMPLETE STORY! Reviews Welcome! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Honor

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men. I just like to play with them. Please don't sue or steal my story. Thanks!
> 
> NOTE: In this short, Comicverse-ish story, Kurt is studying to become a priest because that's what he was doing in the comics I was reading when I wrote this story. :)

A Matter of Honor  
By Rowena Zahnrei

Wolverine had been looking forward to this moment all day. Missions had been few and far between for the past month or so, leaving the aggressive loner all but trapped in the mansion, forced to babysit the students while Professor Xavier, Jean Grey, Cyclops, Rogue, Beast, and Storm attended a mutant rights conference in Pennsylvania. 

But, now that dinner was over, and all the kids had piled into the living room to argue over which shows and games would occupy their evening, Wolverine finally felt he was free to spend at least the next two hours in his favorite part of the sprawling mansion: the Danger Room. The frustrations of the day swelled and churned within him, quickening his pace as he strode down the corridor. He almost pitied the training equipment that would cross his path.

Turning the corner, Wolverine was brought up short at the Danger Room's thick, electronic door. According to the display, somebody was already inside. 

Wolverine's muscles tensed, his metal claws straining beneath the skin of his hands. None of the students at Professor Xavier's School for the Gifted were allowed in the Danger Room without adult supervision. It was called the Danger Room for a reason. Mutant powers or no mutant powers, an inexperienced kid caught suddenly off guard during one of the more advanced training programs could easily be killed.

Fury mingled with building frustration as Wolverine hit the emergency override and burst through the door. Whoever had dared to activate a training program behind his back would live to regret it - maybe.

Wolverine had to wait for his eyes to adjust the the near-complete darkness before moving further into the room. Even then, he could barely make out the elaborate aerial obstacle course that wove and curved above him. Bars and rings hung from the high ceiling, as well as metal hoops and rungs of varying sizes and shapes, all rigged up to a metal track as graceful as it was complex. 

The familiar gymnasium tang of chalk-powder, sweat and exertion was fresh enough to make his nostrils twitch but, other than that, the room seemed empty.

Wolverine extended his claws with a smooth, metallic SNIKT. 

"All right," he growled. "Who's in here? If you don't answer in three seconds one of us is gonna regret it. And it ain't gonna be me."

From somewhere in the shadows high above his head came the soft sound of air imploding. In less time than it took to blink, a lithe, dark figure with luminous yellow eyes appeared beside him in a flash of smoke, bringing with him a scent reminiscent of a whole book of matches being struck at once.

"No need to lose your legendary temper, mein Freund," the figure said, his tenor voice colored by a faint German accent. "It is only me."

Wolverine could feel his fury dissipating as a broad grin crept over his rugged face.

"When did you get here, Elf?" he said, withdrawing his claws and relaxing his defensive stance. "And will you turn on some lights," he added. "I can hardly see you in here, though I sure can smell that stink you left."

Nightcrawler grinned brightly, and strode over to the control panel. An instant later, stark, white light bathed the cavernous room.

"Better?" the indigo-skinned mutant teased.

Wolverine squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness, but his only reply was a grunt.

"To answer your previous question," Nightcrawler said, "I got here about three hours ago. I went in search of you, to announce my arrival, but noticed you seemed rather...occupied at the time. I believe you were engaged in some kind of water balloon fight with the students?"

Wolverine's teeth clenched, his bristly cheeks coloring slightly in fierce embarrassment. He and the children had had a wonderful time, but it galled him to know one of his adult colleagues had witnessed the game - a game that had ended with all the children suddenly teaming up to pelt him with overfilled water balloons. Caught by surprise by their unexpected maneuver, Wolverine had stabbed at the on-coming balloons with his claws, exacerbating his predicament and greatly adding to the children's amusement.

Nightcrawler's too, it seemed...

"I had no wish to disturb you," Nightcrawler said, his swaying tail betraying his 'innocent' act, "so, I thought I might take the opportunity to get in some exercise. All the studying I must do at the Seminary does not leave much time for physical maintenance."

Wolverine nodded. Nightcrawler had always been a practicing Catholic, making the effort to regularly attend Mass and go to confession. But, the Elf's decision to suddenly derail his career as a superhero and apply to a Catholic Seminary was beyond him. Something must have rattled him, and rattled him badly. Maybe Amanda leaving him...again... Maybe the break-up of his team, Excalibur... But, for a roguish flirt like the 'Crawler to aim his sights on the priesthood...

Wolverine shrugged his concerns away. Nightcrawler's life was Nightcrawler's business. It wasn't for Wolverine to interfere.

"Well, now that you're here, you can help me watch the little punks until the others get back tomorrow," he said. "I don't see why I should hog all the fun."

"I would be pleased to offer any assistance I can." Nightcrawler's yellow eyes twinkled. "And you mustn't worry, mein Freund," he added with a smile, his sharp teeth a gleaming contrast to his dark fur. "I will not tell the others how you lost the water-balloon fight. It is an image I would rather treasure in private."

Wolverine scowled, but it was more for show than a display of actual anger. Despite his rather formal grammar, a result of English being his second or third language - or was it fourth? Fifth? Wolverine wasn't sure which - the German acrobat possessed a very well developed sense of mischief that Wolverine respected. Beyond that, he genuinely liked the former circus star. It wasn't easy for Wolverine to make friends - real friends. And, despite the Elf's occasionally irritating inclination to pray for even their cruelest enemies, their shared love for beer, blades, and adventure made it easy for him to enjoy their time together.

With that thought in mind, the aggressive Canadian made his next offer.

"All right, Elf," he sneered. "You asked for it. What 'ud ya say to a little sparring match: one on one, steel against adamantium?"

"Why, Logan," Nightcrawler teased, his bright grin again lighting up his dark face. "Are you challenging me to a duel?"

"If that's what it sounds like, that's what I meant."

"Rules of the strip, or straight-up street fight?"

"Street fight."

Never taking his eyes from Wolverine, Nightcrawler grabbed a sword from the nearby weapons rack with his spaded tail, tossed it into the air, and caught it in his three-fingered hand, all in one swift, graceful move. Raising the sword in a mock salute, the lithe acrobat smiled fiercely, his yellow eyes bright with anticipation of the match to come.

"I accept," he said, and immediately vanished in a BAMF of smoke.

With the sulfur stench clouding his senses, rendering him unable to trace where the teleporter had gone by scent or sight, Wolverine had to rely on his ears to track his nimble opponent. But, apart from the mechanical clicks and whirs of the room's electronics and vents, there were no sounds. He spun in place, claws extended, as he blinked his eyes clear and turned his gaze to the rigging above. 

Nightcrawler's fuzzy, velvet-like fur made him all but invisible in shadow, but the sweeping obstacle course was well lit, with few places to hide. There were no windows in the Danger Room, only the ventilation system causing the rings and trapeze to sway, just slightly...

Street fight implied no rules, no limits, but Nightcrawler couldn't have teleported himself out of the room altogether. Wolverine took a cautious step forward, then another...

A loud yell preceded a flurry of motion that caught Wolverine completely by surprise. Brandishing his sword, his opponent emerged from the shadow of the door frame behind him, flipped over his head and landed right in front of him.

"A teleporter does not necessarily have to travel long distances in order to surprise his opponent," Nightcrawler observed with a grin, his extended sword gently touching Wolverine's chest. "First match is mine."

Impressed by Nightcrawler's little trick - teleporting such a short distance was nearly instantaneous, and the resulting sound and smell would not alert Wolverine to his new location - Wolverine nodded, acknowledging defeat. Nightcrawler lowered his sword - and Wolverine charged forward with a roar, his claws outstretched.

Nightcrawler spun, easily avoiding the Canadian's deadly punch with a move worthy of his boyhood hero, Errol Flynn. With a graceful, almost effortless flourish, the agile mutant brought his sword's point to rest against Wolverine's neck.

"The art of fencing is the art of discipline, mein Freund," the blue-skinned German admonished. "Your attacks are too wild, they leave you vulnerable to my sword. Second match is mine." 

Nightcrawler laughed brightly. 

"And to think! All this time I was worried I was growing rusty!"

Infuriated by the laugh, Wolverine grunted, his eyes burning. 

"That does it, Elf," he said. "I'm not holding back anymore. Let's try this again - no rules, no niceties, just fight."

As Nightcrawler nodded his agreement with a small shrug, Wolverine charged again. Nightcrawler stepped aside, stretching out a two-toed foot to trip him up. But, as he fell, the Canadian lashed out with his legs, causing his opponent to join him on the hard floor.

"Ooh," the German groaned, clearly in pain. "Right on the tail...!"

Wolverine rolled to his feet before Nightcrawler finished speaking. Taking advantage of his opponent's vulnerable position, he lunged, his teeth bared with the pleasure of his anticipated victory as he moved to pin him. 

However, the acrobat's vulnerability proved deceptive as, at the very last moment, he rolled out of harm's way. Leaping to his feet, he aimed a sharp kick at Wolverine's backside, causing his already off-balance opponent to fall on his face once again.

When the Canadian turned, he came face to face with Nightcrawler's indigo reflection grinning up at him from the well-polished blade of his sword. Wolverine glared, his dark eyes spitting fire. 

"I claim the third match," Nightcrawler said. "How far is this game going to go, anyway?"

"Until I win," Wolverine growled, climbing to his feet.

"You will not beat me, mein Freund," Nightcrawler said, his tone still light but his words sincere. "You allow your anger at me to cloud your concentration. That is fine if you are fighting against a pack of oncoming soldiers or in hand-to-hand combat, but not in fencing. In fencing, discipline is key."

"So," Wolverine growled. "You want discipline. I can do discipline."

Nightcrawler shot his friend a skeptical look, but brought his sword to the ready.

Retracting his claws, Wolverine strode over to the weapons rack and chose his own sword. 

"This time, it'll be by the book. No powers. That means that I can't use my claws and you can't do your disappearing act."

"Agreed."

Gracing his opponent with another salute, Nightcrawler took up a traditional stance. 

"En guarde!" he warned, leaping into action. 

The long-tailed mutant launched into the offensive, his flashing sword moving so quickly it was difficult for Wolverine to deflect his blows. Nightcrawler's concentration was complete, his yellow eyes were bright and focused, his indigo lips curled in a slight, confident smile. 

But, Wolverine was getting into the rhythm of the fight, and he had some tricks up his sleeve.

Playing on his opponent's low opinion of his skills as a fencer, Wolverine purposefully swung his sword in a wild arc that left his chest exposed, fully expecting Nightcrawler to move at once to take advantage of his vulnerability. 

It worked. Nightcrawler lunged forward, and Wolverine immediately deflected the blow and turned to the side, forcing Nightcrawler to stumble several steps before regaining his balance. Far from being angry, though, Nightcrawler fixed his opponent with a delighted grin. 

Annoyed, Logan charged again, this time putting Nightcrawler on the defensive. The long-tailed mutant was forced to give ground under the force of Wolverine's powerful blows. Wolverine's greater strength seemed to be wearing down his slender opponent as Nightcrawler continued to back away.

Nightcrawler's back toe skidded and he stumbled, his arms wheeling as he fought to keep his balance. Wolverine moved in for the kill - until he realized the apparent stumble was really a feint. Nightcrawler pushed off the wall with his tail and leaped over Wolverine's head.

Spinning in place, his face a mixture of surprise and fury, Wolverine came at his elusive opponent once more. 

Caught off guard by the real anger powering Wolverine's determined blows, Nightcrawler's rhythm slipped slightly, allowing Wolverine to move in. His yellow eyes widened as he realized his opponent now had the advantage over him and that, in the enraged state he was in, he might easily injure him. 

Aiming to take himself out of harm's way, Nightcrawler executed a daring backflip, landing several meters from his opponent. 

Wolverine rushed at him with a guttural roar, his sword raised above his head. As he swung the weapon down with a WHOOSH of savagely displaced air, Nightcrawler ducked low and somersaulted beneath his opponent's outstretched legs, coming up behind him and launching into his own attack. 

But, months of physical neglect were starting to catch up with him, and he could feel his arms beginning to weaken under the bone-shattering blows from Wolverine's sword. From the triumphant gleam in Wolverine's wild eyes, it was clear his opponent was aware of this as well. If Nightcrawler couldn't find a way to reach deep inside himself, use his greater agility to bring the match to a swift end, there was a real chance he'd find himself confined to the medbay for the next few weeks.

Moving quickly, Nightcrawler crouched down and made a powerful jump all the way up to the trapeze hanging from the ceiling. There, he swiftly transferred the sword from his aching hand to his tail and launched himself back into the air, spinning as he fell, his momentum lending immense power to the force behind his sword-wielding appendage. 

Wolverine's blade went flying from his hand. Nightcrawler landed hard on his feet and hands on the floor beside him. With his back still turned, the victorious mutant raised his sword to his opponent's chest.

Wiping the sweat from under his dark, indigo curls, Nightcrawler looked over his shoulder at Wolverine, panting for breath. 

"Fourth match...is mine...mein Freund."

Wolverine stood there, staring alternately at his empty hands, then at the sword wrapped tightly in Nightcrawler's flexible tail. His expression darkened.

"I thought we'd agreed no powers," he growled.

Nightcrawler stood up, his blue face glowing with spent energy, his yellow eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Is that not what we did?" he asked, bringing his tail around and replacing his sword in his hand. "You did not use your claws, and I did not teleport."

Wolverine shook his head. 

"You used your tail."

Nightcrawler was still confused. 

"Well, yes. My arm was getting tired and—" 

He broke off as understanding dawned. Alarmed, he brought his hand to his mouth. 

"Oh," he said. "You do not have a tail."

Wolverine gave him an exaggerated nod. 

"Now you're getting it, Fuzzy."

Nightcrawler gave a small, ashamed chuckle. 

"Funny, but I never thought of my tail as a 'power', as you put it. Although, I suppose that, looking at it from a certain angle, it isn't much different from your claws, is it?"

Wolverine shrugged. 

"From a certain angle."

Nightcrawler lowered his eyes and stepped forward, holding out his sword to Wolverine.

"Then I apologize, mein Freund. I was in error. The match is yours."

Wolverine shook his head, pushing the sword back towards its wielder. 

"No," he said. "Keep it. We'll call it a draw."

"You are certain?" Nightcrawler asked, concerned.

Wolverine looked at the contrite man standing before him, considering whether or not to prolong his discomfort. Wolverine was used to defiance; open penitence made him uneasy.

"Yeah," he said after a short pause. Then he smiled. "Hey, you hungry, Kurt?"

Nightcrawler looked up, surprised. 

"Why, are you offering to cook dinner?"

"Nah. But I'll pay for the take-out. Anyone who can go six months without training and still fight like that at the end of a long day deserves to be treated to a decent meal."

Kurt grinned, the awkwardness of the past few minutes completely forgotten. 

"Thank you, Logan. And in answer to your previous question, I am absolutely starving. I haven't eaten anything since, well, lunch."

"Then come on, Elf," Logan said. "We've still got a few minutes before the kids' shows are over. Let's grab a couple 'a brews from my stash, and I'll make the call."

THE END


End file.
